O Death
by paperwingsandbrokenlegs
Summary: Danny sees something one day, and realises that he's different. God, i suck at summaries. Just read it already.


Disclaimer: I own nothing. Pearl Harbor, the characters and everything invovled belongs to Michael Bay/ Randall Wallace.

The song 'O Death' belongs to Jen Titus. One recommends listening to it before reading the fic.

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_O Death, _

_Won't you spare me over another? _

The first time he hears the song, Danny is seven and Rafe, nine. They're out much after bedtime to catch the last of the summer fireflies for this girl that Rafe likes. As they stalk around in the swampy undergrowth by the river, they hear a low, ringing sort of hum in the air. It sounds like it is a distance away, but slowly grows louder and comes close enough to pique their childish curiosity. Peeking through the long blades of bluegrass, he sees flickering lights that are too bright and strong to be fireflies on the other side of the river. As they come closer, it becomes clear that the lights are coming from man-made torches.

And then it comes into plain view of the boys hiding in the grass; a parade of figures on the other bank. It must be men, but they do not look anything like people they knew. Robed and hooded in white, some on horseback and some on foot, they march by the riverbank, singing an ode to Death. It is so surreal and otherworldly that Danny wonders if they have accidentally stumbled into a faerie world. It makes him uneasy, this procession of ghost-men, and he feels a shiver run up his frame despite the warm summer night.

"Come on," Rafe's whispered command draws him from his thoughts; it is clear that his friend is as disturbed by the situation as he.

Danny nods and follows his friend away from the riverbank, but turns around one last time to look at the strange procession, if only to make sure that it was not all a dream. At the end of the long line of white-robed figures is a solitary man in a suit. He looks out of place and Danny wonders if he forgot his cloak and hood. Just as he is about to leave, the suited man looks across the river and straight into his eyes as if he knows that Danny is there. The young boy stays frozen in his gaze until Rafe catches his arm and pulls him away. When he looks up again, the man is gone.

When news breaks the next day about the death of Conrad Tucker, the black drifter who came into town some weeks ago, neither boy connects it with the events of their night-time adventure.

_But what is this I can't see with ice cold hands taking hold of me?_

It is only two years later, when he is nine, that Danny reads of the lynching of a black farm-hand in the local gazette and puts two and two together. He vaguely remembers a man in a suit, and his deep, black eyes.

_When God is gone and the Devil takes hold, who will have mercy on your soul?_

The belt falls yet again on his battered body and the 11 year old curls into a ball, trying to escape into himself, wondering why he was so stupid as to wash the unfinished glass of whiskey in the sink.

"You can't do nuthin' right!" His father's voice bookends each blow. "What'd ah do to get a brat like you?"

The heavy silver end of the belt is tinged with red, he sees, by his own blood. Funny how he can't feel anything anymore, not even the wounds from which the blood must have come from. The heavy work of whipping his only child wears Cole Walker out and he drops his belt by the broken, bleeding boy before stumbling out of the house. Danny lies there for a while, not wanting to provoke the ire of the still-drunk man by appearing unharmed by the beating, but quickly realises when he tries that he cannot move to get up. He's hurting, both inside and out, and the thought crosses his mind that he just wants this to end.

That is when a pair of well-polished black shoes comes into his line of sight. It is all he can do to look up, and when he does, Danny sees a man dressed in a suit just as well made as the shoes. It takes him only a moment to remember where he last saw him. The association should have frightened him, but the man's black eyes are kind and his demeanour graceful. He is not there to hurt him.

"Can you see me?" he asks, in a voice that flows like music.

Yes, Danny thinks, and the man smiles.

He crouches so that they are eye to eye and holds out a hand. "Would you like to come with me?"

Danny knows, somehow, that if he says yes, he cannot come back. He does not care. Just as he finds his voice to say the word, Rafe comes running through the door, through the man crouching before him and falls on his knees in front of him.

"Danny!" he cries out, dismay apparent in his features. "Oh, God. It's okay, it'll be okay. I'll get you outta here."

The man is still waiting, but Danny thinks he'll stay for a while more. This earns him another kindly smile from the man. Then he blinks blood from his eyes, and the man is gone.

_No wealth, no ruin, no silver, no gold; nothing satisfies me but your soul_

The death toll will number in the thousands; everywhere he looks, there are the dead and dying. Burnt sailors stumble, zombie-like, towards the hospital, charred beyond recognition. Some lie dead in their bunks, clad only in the boxers they went to sleep in; they never even got the chance to see their aggressors. The captain of the Arizona was killed in full uniform, and Betty in the prettiest yellow blouse he's ever seen. There is no difference between them now; bullets and shrapnel do not discriminate. They kill regardless of innocence. Age, sex, creed, colour or rank, not one of these petty labels matter in the face of death. Those killed could no more buy their way out of death than a bullet could offer mercy to its victim.

_Well, I am Death, none can excel; I'll open the door to Heaven or Hell_

He walks one step behind Rafe, simply because the former knows where to go, unlike him. They're walking out of the hospital and when he steps out into the courtyard, Danny loses his breath. Interspersed between the victims being carted in are hundreds of men and women, who stick out like flowers in a field of snow in their pristine suits, untainted by blood, smoke or defeat. They stand over the dying, dispassionate but neither cold nor cruel. Professional. A woman with hair like honey and eyes as black as midnight lays her fingers on the forehead of a man in death throes and he goes still. Danny shudders. He's about the say something to Rafe when it occurs to him that his friend cannot see them. No one else can.

He steps out of the shade and squints when the bright sunlight hits his eyes. When he stops blinking, the figures are no longer visible, but he does not doubt that they are still here.

_O Death_

He feels like he's been hit by a truck, and there is this force on his chest that makes breathing difficult. Danny is not blind or naïve; he's read and seen enough to know which wounds are fatal. Rafe suddenly comes into his line of sight, perfectly alive and in full big-brother mode. His friend frees him from his bonds, ignoring his words and muttering platitudes intended to delude them both into thinking that he has a fighting chance.

When he looks over Rafe's shoulder and sees that familiar sight of his man _reaper_ in the suit, extending his hand with a kind smile, Danny knows.

_My name is Death and the end is here_

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i don't quite like this story. do let me know what you think; it takes no more than a minute to leave a review, but it does wonders for the author :)


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